


Fire and Brimstone

by spatialsoloist



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Fluff, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-11
Updated: 2013-06-11
Packaged: 2017-12-14 15:06:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/838271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spatialsoloist/pseuds/spatialsoloist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Loki is the surly and intelligent young prince of the castle and Tony is the resident blacksmith he meets by chance. Medieval AU- set roughly in 13th century BCE.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Brimstone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Voodooling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voodooling/gifts).



> Y'know, for somebody who has a really important final exam coming up in less than a week you'd think I'd actually start studying instead of writing fanfiction.
> 
> Not that I really care.
> 
> Beem beem.
> 
> Since my lovely Senpai wrote me a really cute Cannibal!John/Sherlock oneshot, this one's for her.

Fire and Brimstone

Summmary: Loki is the surly and intelligent young prince of the castle and Tony is the resident blacksmith he meets by chance.

(Hi, ho, hi, ho, it’s more fanfics! This is set roughly in 13th century CE)

+

  


“In a minute, Prince Loki.”

“We’re busy, Prince Loki, please excuse us.”

“Later, Loki!”

“Hang on, Loki, I’ve got something important to do right now, find me after, alright?”

Loki had had enough.

People had been darting past him all morning: scribes, his father’s advisors, and Thor’s little clique of mercenaries. None of them bothered to spare him the time of day, even as he shouted after them that he’s got battle tactics to take into account or more information from his scouting trips to share. If he heard “Just a moment, my liege,” one more time, he was going to run somebody through with his sword. _Violently_.

Perhaps that was why he found himself stomping moodily around the courtyard, kicking at sand and pebbles in a whirlwind of his anger in the dreary afternoon. There was actually quite a bit of rain falling, but Loki didn’t want to stay in the castle. He was sick of being constantly overlooked, to have his ideas shot down in favour of his brother’s. Nobody knew how to value the gift of knowledge nowadays! It was all war, war, war and kill, kill, kill. No more negotiations or peace treaties, which would undoubtedly save some lives. The war in the Holy Lands was taking its toll not only on the foreigners but the people in the Kingdom as well. Did his father not see that the rise in taxes was pushing their own people to their limits? Soon there will not only be a war in another land but a rebellion right on their doorstep!

“ ‘Scuse me, longshanks, you’re on my doorstep.”

Loki looked up, momentarily thrown off. He hadn’t expected company, but standing before him was a short man with closely cropped hair and a fuzzy beard. His arms were full of scrap metal, his thin cloak singed at the corners, and he smelt strongly of ash. It took Loki a moment to realize he was in the presence of their weaponry blacksmith, and that he’d wandered all the way out of the courtyard and into the forge.

Frowning, he stared down at the unfamiliar face. “You’re not the old Master of the forge.”

The short man rolled his eyes dramatically. “Well, yes, that would be Yinsen, but in case you haven’t noticed he’s about a couple hundred years old and his eyesight ain’t as good as it used to be. He’s retired.”

Loki scowled. He had, in fact, not noticed Yinsen’s gradual aging. He’d rarely visit the forge on a good day, let alone for fun.

“So who are you?” the prince demanded. The short man huffed and glared pointedly down at the scrap metal in his arms.

“Look, your highness, I’d love to chat in the freezing cold rain and all, but this is really heavy and I want to put it down. So could you, maybe, I don’t know, scoot over?”

Loki’s jaw dropped slightly. The sheer _impudence_ of the man’s tone!

The blacksmith huffed and bodily elbowed his way past, smearing the sleeve of Loki’s fine tunic with grease and grime. Letting out a slightly pained noise at the mess, Loki ducked into the forge, intent on giving the blacksmith a piece of his mind, but his voice died out with a slightly strangled manner when the other man dropped the scrap metal with an awful _clang_ and whipped his cloak off.

The man’s _muscles_.

He was a good head shorter than Loki, but his shoulders were broad and packed. Tendons shifted in his neck, his veins bulged in his arms and slim pieces of muscle clearly gained from hours of hammering away in the clustered room wrapped around his frame. There were no sleeves on his stained tunic, probably torn off for safety long ago, and Loki could see faded scars and burns on his arms.

It took Loki a minute to realize the other man had noticed his gaze and was openly smirking. A wave of embarrassment he’d never felt before washed over him momentarily.

“What’s your name, blacksmith?” Loki asked roughly.

“Anthony, only son of Howard Stark. Call me Tony.”

Loki wrinkled his nose. “Not Haywire Stark, the nutty inventor?” he asked rather tactlessly.

But rather than taking offense, Tony snorted with mirth. “Haywire Stark,” he repeated fondly. “Never heard that one before. That’s my old man, though I doubt he’s doing much inventing up in the clouds with our Lord and Savior and my dear departed mother. Probably having a laugh at me though, the cranky old bastard.” Light brown eyes trailed over Loki’s tall frame with curious interest. “You’re not one to talk, though. Isn’t your father about to drive the entire country into war?”

Loki scowled deeply. “Indeed. My father and pigheaded brother will be the death of us all. Be grateful that your post here in the forge grants you immunity from conscription, peasant.”

Tony laughed, a truly delighted sound despite the subject at hand.

“Please, princess,” he teased. “Working for your father is a war all by itself.”

+

And that was how, on a dull rainy day on the eve of a battle, Prince Loki of the Asgardian Kingdom met Tony, only son of Howard ‘Haywire’ Stark, the charming blacksmith of the forge.

+

Tony was strange. Loki wasn’t sure he liked the man very much. Tony also wasn’t afraid of Loki at all either; rather, he spoke to the prince with an air of unabashed familiarity and no small amount of bantering. It drove Loki _insane_.

But at the same time, nobody else had ever done that to him.

It was always a terrified pip of “Prince Loki!” from the kitchen maids and nervous scribes or disapproving glares from Sif and the Warriors Three, but the other day Tony had nonchalantly informed Loki that he’d had something stuck between his teeth since morning. Earlier in the week, Loki had a shouting match with his father over the use of the reserve armies down by the South, where they needed the men to farm in order to harvest for the winter, but had been ruthlessly shut down. Tony, on the other hand, listened with rapt attention as he twisted and bent the metal on his workbench and offered up tidbits of war stories his father had told him when the older Stark had been on the battlefield.

In short, nobody made Loki feel more human that Tony Stark did, and slowly but surely the prince found himself integrating himself into the dusty forge. His royal papers joined Tony’s careful charcoal designs on the wobbly table in the corner of the shop. Loki’s leather jacket found its place on a shiny new brass peg behind the door. An elegant wine goblet from the great halls of the castle occasionally made its way into the forge on the Lord’s Day, where it joined Tony’s tarnished flask in celebratory drink. The forge became a hideout from family arguments, and Tony became an unofficial confident. Loki thought the man was rather smug about that.

They were friends, he supposed. In some manner or another.

+

“I was an artist, you know,” Tony said, carefully working the barbs on the new section of the chicken fence Miss Potts from down the hill had asked him to fix. “I wasn’t always a drunkard hammering away in a shed.”

“An artist?” Loki asked, setting down his quill, intrigued. “What did you paint?”

“Did portraits of the royal subjects from here and there,” Tony said, eyebrows furrowing in concentration. “Went to France, went to Spain, went to the Mediterranean and just about everywhere else.”

“Why’d you become a blacksmith then?”

Tony grunted. “My old man got sent away to the war and died. Couldn’t feed myself after all his debts were settled. Nice friend of his got me the job here. Sir James of Rhodes, d’you know who that is?”

Loki vaguely remembered a confident knight amongst the higher military ranks. “No idea,” he said offhandedly, and Tony snorted.

“What about you? Why aren’t you all riled up for bloodshed like your father?”

Loki leaned back against the wall. “Same reason as you,” he mused. “My father went to war as well, and things have changed. He’s changed. I’m not good enough in his eyes anymore.”

Tony didn’t reply, but Loki thinks he may have understood.

+

“Oi, Loki, you’ve got a steady hand, draw a straight line for me on the wood will you, there’s a lad.”

+

“Stark. In your opinion, should the dams for the prevention of spring floods down in the Village of Shields be implemented this fall or earlier?”

+

“I think that pretty lady down there’s trying to catch your eye, Loki. Isn’t it terribly impolite for a Prince to ignore her?”

“Pah. She’s one of the rejected suitors my father’s trying to set up for Thor, even when Lady Jane is clearly the only one he has eyes for. No doubt she’s going to try her hand with me now. She’s a fool to think I will ever settle for second best.”

“Hmph. Fair point, no man or woman should ever be played at in the game of love. You can’t possibly be unattached though; a handsome and princely chap like you?”

“I’ve got no interest in anybody, Stark, unlike you.”

“If you’re talking about Miss Potts, I assure you, you royal arse, we’re strictly friends. Pepper’s got more important things to worry about than me.”

“Duly noted, you short bastard.”

+

“Where’re you running off to?”

Loki paused in his tracks, turning slowly. It was Thor and his little posse, clearly on their way to go the royal chambers or whatever. The others glared at Loki in disdain, but Thor looked genuinely curious.

“None of your business, brother,” Loki said coldly, but Volstagg spoke up.

“He’s going to see that blacksmith, Stark,” the red-haired man revealed, and Loki felt his hackles rise.

“Very clever, Volstagg, are you following me everywhere I go now?” Loki demanded. The warrior scowled, but didn’t deny it. Thor, on the other hand, looked unexpectedly happy.

“You’ve made a friend, Loki! How pleasing!”

Loki sniffed. “Pleasing indeed. Thor, do me a favour and keep your dogs on a tighter leash, won’t you?” he added before exiting the hall with a swish of his cape, ignoring the indignant shouts echoing off the stone.

+

“…and now those damned warriors are following me everywhere I go like the sneaks they are. It’s injustice!” Loki roared, slamming his mug down on the table. Tony took a deep swig of his rum before pounding his cup down too, sloshing drink everywhere.

“Injustice!” he cried as well, a cheesy grin on his face. “Round up the horses! Round up the men! Send the traitors over the hill and back again!”

“I’m sick of it,” Loki huffed, watching condensation collect on the tabletop. It was a cold, rainy night, and everybody was huddled back up in the castle, but Loki had braved the downpour to bring a heavy casket of finely aged rum for a hearty drink with Tony in front of the flaming hearth.

“Don’t let ‘em get to you, princess,” Tony teased. “You’re much better than that.”

Loki snorted. “Really? A frail twig like me, compared to my bull of a brother? A shoddy warrior who thinks of treaties before the catapults? Is that better than Thor?”

Tony suddenly sat up and reached over, extending his hand to cup Loki’s jaw with a calloused palm. “Yes, it is,” Tony said firmly. “If there were more thinkers like you then maybe there wouldn’t be a war. Maybe people like my old man wouldn’t have to die. And maybe, we’d have a bit of peace for once in our lives.”

Loki let out a ragged breath. He’s not drunk, and neither is Tony, but his heart was pounding so fiercely he may be drunk on adrenaline instead. Their faces were very close, and he could see the flickering flames in Tony’s warm eyes.

The other man hummed nervously, managing to curl his fingers around Loki’s. “I know you won’t settle for second best—” he began, but Loki let out an indignant noise.

“If you’re referring to yourself, Stark, I assure you, I hold nobody in higher confidence and companionship than you.”

And that was all it took for Tony to surge forwards and crash their mouths together.

+

And that was when the war finally arrived on their doorstep. Odin’s armies were falling behind, and in order to maintain power in the Holy War, more men would have to be deployed.

Thor had to go, much to the dismay of Lady Jane. Sif and the Warriors Three, whom Loki never admired but would now grudgingly admit the unfaltering sense of loyalty, would follow his brother.

Loki wasn’t afraid of death. He wasn’t afraid of fighting or bloodshed or brutality, but when Odin turned to him with defeated eyes and a new sword for the battlefield, Loki feared what Tony would say.

To his surprise, Tony already knew.

“I’m the royal blacksmith, you dolt,” the man huffed, bonking Loki on the head. “I sharpened your sword; of course I knew what it would be used for.”

Loki looked wordlessly at the scattered weapons around the forge, the half-finished leatherwork, and the polished shields. He thought about Tony’s whimsical sketches of him, tucked away into a journal and the many bottles of fine wine they’d shared together over the years. It struck him very suddenly that this was the second time Tony had to watch someone he loved walk into battle.

“I’ll be alright,” he said, wanting to reassure his lover, but ended up sounding far too wooden. “A month. It won’t be long. I’ll be back.”

Tony nodded slowly, fingers drumming restlessly by his sides.

“I’ll wait,” he said, and Loki exited the forge with a fleeting brush of their hands.

He knew he wouldn’t walk through that door again for a long, long time.

+

A month turned into five.

+

Half a year turned into three more.

+

It was either a curse or a blessing that brought Loki back to Asgard.

Maybe it was both, considering that he was finally _home_ , where Tony was, at last.

Though he was also back because he’d been gored right through his side thrice over and not expected to live.

+

Spring came about in a calm and gentle manner, something Loki hadn’t experience in a while. Four months in the infirmary had been a stifling four months, punctured by painful memories of infections, primitive surgery and hallucination-laced fevers. But it was over now, and though it took a little longer than it used to, Loki could finally limp across the courtyard down to Tony’s forge.

He didn’t know what he was preparing for, but it certainly wasn’t Tony suddenly bursting out the door with quick, purposeful strides, a flurry of emotions passing across his face. Loki could make out terror, anger, and predominantly, fear.

They stopped within inches of each other, almost unsure of what to do. The silence hung between them, and Loki let his eyes roam over Tony, taking in the slightly longer hair, the bags under his eyes, a new burn on his forearm, and his trembling hands.

“You goddamned son of a harlot,” Tony finally blasphemed, breaking the standoff to finally reach forwards, yanking Loki into a tight, desperate hug. “You _liar_. You said a month. You promised you’d be alright.”

Loki threaded his long, thin fingers through Tony’s hair with his good hand and breathed slowly, taking in the scent of ash and fire and smoke. He felt the soot between his fingers, the rough leather apron, and the burning warmth of the smaller man’s body against his own.

“I’m sorry,” he said honestly. “I’m sorry, Tony.”

“Quiet,” Tony whispered, clutching even tighter. “Just stop moving. Let me have this, damn it.”

And they stood there as the clouds rolled in the sky and let the rain fall upon their entwined bodies.

_End_

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fire and Brimstone [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/840618) by [Voodooling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Voodooling/pseuds/Voodooling)




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